Take the Money and Run

Hal: Hey Derek, how much you want to break some records for me the next coupla years?

Derek: I dunno, a hundred fifteen for five years.

Hal: Ha! I've already made you rich beyond what you deserve. Get real.

Derek: Okay, then a hundred for four years.

Hal: Are you kidding me? You're out of gas at 37 and you want me to pay you at 41?

Derek: L'equipe, c'est moi.

Hal: Your glove can't handle short and your bat doesn't play anywhere else but second. And Cano way we're moving you there. I'll give you 45 for three, but only because of our special bond.

Derek: That will not do. I am the Yankee captain. Everyone loves me. I will attain my 3,000th hit.

Hal: Fine, go play the field. See how much Pinstripe Pride is worth in Houston. Enjoy that legendary Mariner tradition.  I hear summer in Dallas is nice. You'll love hiding in the power-packed Padre lineup. After the Diamondbacks offer you 15 for two years in left field, come on back. The offer will remain on the table.

Waldo: Psst, Derek. Sign the deal. Make a budget. Cement your legacy. Pretend you're going out on your terms. Die a Yankee.

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Hall of Mirrors

I see the reconstituted and renamed Veterans Committee has another opportunity to vote Marvin Miller into Cooperstown. I've already scored a TKO on this particular horse and will go to my corner after a few short words.

A Baseball Hall of Fame without Marvin Miller is like a Civil War Hall of Fame without Robert E. Lee. A Baseball Hall of Fame that includes Bowie Kuhn and not Miller is like a Basketball Hall of Fame that shuns the Harlem Globetrotters while admitting the Washington Generals.

Whether you were on his side or not, Miller is one of the five most influential people in the history of the game. (Who else? The Babe, Branch Rickey, Jackie Robinson. That's the list.)

Baseball's failure to vote Miller into the Hall is no reflection on the man who transformed the business of the sport and was perhaps the greatest union leader ever. It is instead a referendum on the judgment, indeed the sanity, of those casting the ballots. 

Choose carefully, gentlemen.

Quick Hits

The revolution was televised. As recently as five years ago, the baseball writers could no more have found their way to bestow the Cy Young on a .500 pitcher than to explain the general theory of relativity. Not only did they correctly identify Felix Hernandez as the best pitcher in the AL this year, but they did so by a country mile over a perfectly plausible second-best candidate.

David Price went 16-9, 2.72 with 28 quality starts in 31 tries. He was money down the stretch, going 4-0 1.67, propelling the Rays ahead of the Yankees to the #1 seed in the playoffs. For the win-obsessed, CC Sabathia went 21-7. But the writers eschewed Sabathia completely and gave King Felix three-quarters of their votes.

Perhaps David Price's best pitch was in Hernandez's behalf. "I feel like they got it right,'' he said on a conference call. "I feel Felix deserved it. He didn't have the wins, but that's the part you have the least control over.''  That's impressive insight from an athlete.

Roy Halladay, clearly the best pitcher in the NL and probably in baseball, is more typical of jockdom. " I think, ultimately, you look at how guys are able to win games. Sometimes the run support isn’t there, but you sometimes just find ways to win games. I think the guys that [sic] are winning and helping their teams deserve a strong look, regardless of how good Felix’s numbers are.” 

It's the job of the people who study the game to exercise a deeper understanding of it than those whose job is to play it. For the second year in a row, the baseball writers have demonstrated this ability.

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Met fans, rejoice, and stop worrying about who your manager is going to be. Frankly, it doesn't much matter as long as he gets along with the players.

Sandy Alderson as GM and Paul DePodesta as AGM are anti-Minayas. They will give the team positive mass, energy and momentum. Alderson schooled Billy Beane in Oakland before moving to an inner orbit in MLB's executive suites. Described by some as "old school" because he's 63, Alderson will bring new ideas to Queens.

Evidence of that was his first hire, DePo, whom the Dodgers would regret firing as GM a few years back if they had enough sense to avoid messy divorces. The new management team's first order of business, after deciding who'll implement their plan on the field, will be to surround Wright and Reyes with some sustainable talent and shed the Bay-like contracts that darken the Mets' future.

They'll need a couple of years to clean the stables at Citi, but once they do, they'll get a squad of thoroughbreds back on the field and give orange and blue fans something to believe in again.

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Speaking of field generals, I see that the voters have tabbed their managers of the year for 2010. Were Ron Gardenhire and Bud Black the best managers in baseball this year? I don't know. But I do know this: not a single one of the writers who voted for this award knows either.

Admit it, BBWAA, there is no manager of the year award. Gardenhire and Black were voted managers of the teams that most outperformed expectation. Whether the manager has any, much less significant impact on that result is dubious at best.

The unacknowledged truth is that managers are measured by results for which there is little evidence that they affect. The strategic, in-game decision-making is so proscribed and rote that any reasonably knowledgeable baseball fan could handle the duties. Team leadership is another story, but most of that goes on behind closed doors, out of the view of you, me and baseball journalists.

If we were really identifying the "best" manager, wouldn't it stand to reason that the same people would win repeatedly? Or is managing really such a fleeting skill that this year's hero is next year's goat? Only one manager has repeated in either league since the award was established 27 years ago -- Bobby Cox in '04-'05 -- and that was because the '04 team was gutted and expectations for the '05 Braves were lower than a pregnant ant's belly.

Each year I vote for MVP, Cy Young and ROY in the Internet Baseball Awards, but I never bother to cast a ballot for manager of the year. Where I can gather facts and analyze them appropriately, I can cast an informed vote. I don't feel comfortable pulling the lever without being informed. Evidently, this is not a deterrent for a lot of people.

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Mr. "Knows His Ultimate Zone Rating From His FRAR"

Amid the muck and slime emerged the first primitive beings, crawling out of the mire, basking in the life-giving rays, slowly evolving and adapting, toddling, knuckle-scraping, walking upright and finally reclining with a good book.

The ascent of Man? Sure, but also the ascent of modern baseball analysis. Although the state of baseball journalism remains fairly dismal, there are nonetheless heroes in the midst. A paean to those luminaries who have the guts to leap upstream is long overdue.

Here's to you, Mr. Understands the Value of On-Base Percentage and Isn't Intimidated By VORP.

Best Sportswriter -- Joe Posnanski, Kansas City Star, Sports Illustrated. Joe Poz was one of the first to recognize that Bill James had proposed baseball's relativity theory and that it would revolutionize the game. Joe writes with humor, warmth and a level of comprehension of baseball's inner life rarely found elsewhere. 

Here's Joe Poz on Joe Morgan: "...he became a symbol of the closed-minded ballplayer-turned-announcer who believed in the power of heart, the magic of grit, and that to win you need winners, and that to become a winner you need to learn how to win, and that to learn how to win you need to win, and that to win you need winners." 

You can read more of Joe's work here and here .

Best Sports Broadcaster -- Brian Kenny, ESPN. Here's what blows my mind about Brian Kenny. The guy is sharp as a laser. His interviews crackle and he pummels conventional wisdom with iron insights and joie de vive. His sons both attend Berkeley. And yet he did his higher learning at St. John's, which is a just four years of Yourtown Community College. BK mixes stat-comfort with a keen mind for the human side of sports.

Kenny also has the most cerebral guests, most notably Greg Easterbrook, author of Tuesday Morning QB, and an email-reading segment called Kenny's Log-Ins. His week-nightly radio show makes my nipples rise. Catch excerpts here.

Best Play-By-Play Broadcaster -- Jon Sciambi, ESPN. With apologies to Charlie Steiner, Gary Cohen, Dan Shulman and their Gentile counterparts, Sciambi stands out among the standouts. Like the above-mentioned , you'll never catch Boog mumbling some conventional tripe about momentum or clubhouse chemistry. Moreover, he actually works the new analysis into his broadcasts and explains to his listeners how and why it matters in a way that increases their understanding without dropping a load of statistics on them. Here's the test of a great PBP announcer: enjoyment of the broadcast is inversely proportional to the competitiveness of the game.

Best Color Commentator -- Dave Campbell, ESPN Radio. The guy with the lamest nickname (Soup) is absolutely terrific on those Sunday night broadcasts. You can really hear his exquisite talent come through when he covers the same two teams Sunday night that Fox covered on TV the previous afternoon. Twice the insight without the cliches and provably false shibboleths.

Best Sabermetrician/Writer -- Joe Sheehan, JoeSheehan.com and Sports Illustrated. Sheehan gets the nod over Keith Law and Rob Neyer primarily because you can find them without my help on the Worldwide Leader. Joe's the most provocative of the three, which is to say that he doesn't mind being an idiot in the service of an idea. He's also more of a writer than Neyer or Law, who have number-crunching chops that he lacks. Sheehan studies the nooks and examines the crannies of the game and brings mind-expanding analysis to it. Look, read them all and learn about the game.

It's not a desert out there. While there's still too much wind blowing through baseball journalism's ears, there are heads popping through the sand with neurons firing. I hope and expect that we'll be able to continue adding to this list in coming years.

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The Biggest Idiot of All

Today we take on the single most ignorant member of the baseball media, a person who doesn't seem to know the difference between the MVP and the Gold Glove and who is so singularly focused on the shortcomings of other scribes and gabbers that he lashes out at them willy-nilly.

That would be your humble reporter.

Two posts ago Braindrizzling lambasted the mainstream baseball media for crapping the bed on the AL shortstop Gold Glove vote. Sportswriters and broadcasters certainly play a daily Super Bowl of Stupidity and Willful Ignorance, but they cannot be blamed for the Gold Glove stinkbug.

It's the managers and players who vote for the Gold Glove. D'Oh! No wonder the vote is so lame-brained. If you don't believe that ballplayers generally know less about the game than educated fans, consider the analytic portfolio of John Kruk. And then consider that he beat out less knowledgeable former ballers. There's nothing about the ability to hit a speed ball or snap off Uncle Charlie that equips one to assess the nuances of the game, its performers or its strategies.

Fine, you say, but don't try to change the subject. This blog laid a Sabathia-sized egg on that post and deserves to be excoriated for it. So go ahead, excoriate. 

Baseball writers and broadcasters did not kidnap the Lindbergh baby, cause global warming, kill off the dinosaurs or create Snooki. People who cast stones should make sure their houses aren't made of glass.

Duly noted. You deserve better.

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Jumbo Shrimp

I walked by a TV today that drooled out gossip about a pair of 19-year-old singers or actors or maybe they're just garden variety drug addicts. Anyway, on the screen popped some adult voyeur with his analysis of the couple's dating or fighting or public intercourse or whatever, and beneath his face the super identified him as a Celebrity Journalist.

Celebrity Journalist! Ha! 

I guess that's the infotainment version of "Gold Glove-winner Derek Jeter."

An Election Than Shwe Could Love

[Note: this post has been edited to remove the idiotic assertion that the vote was the fault of baseball writers. Of course, the Gold Glove is voted on by players and managers.]

I see that the players and managers have voted Derek Jeter the best fielding shortstop in the American League this year. I see that Myanmar also had elections this week.

This is a perfectly reasonably Gold Glove choice. On Planet Baseball Insider.

The metrics agree that Jeter's defense was offensive. Ultimate Zone Rating (UZR) places Jeter's glovework third worst among the 15 shortstops who played 500+ innings this season. The Plus-Minus system has Jeter's defense second worst among starting shortstops.

The rest of the planet appears to be on board. Jeter didn't receive a single Top Ten vote from anyone at the Fielding Bible for shortstop defense this year. (That's across both leagues.) Finding someone without a major league uniform who believes Derek Jeter is even a legitimate shortstop anymore is harder than finding Aung San Suu Kyii on the Burmese ballot. 

But the good men and women of the game have their reasons, probably similar to those that led to bestowing the 2008 Gold Glove for first base upon a DH (Rafael Palmiero). After all, Jeter made the fewest errors at short in the AL this year. Of course, King Tut made even fewer errors, and for the same reason: you can't bobble what you can't get to.

The vote speaks far more eloquently about the ability -- and probably the interest -- of players and managers to decide these sorts of things than about Derek Jeter's defense. The truth is there has never been any correlation between the ability to smack a ball and the ability to tease out the complex nuances of the game.

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The Worst Best of All Time

Baseball has attempted to play both ends against the middle by dividing into three divisions and adding a wild card. It's a compromise between the everyone-gets-a-trophy insanity of the NBA and NHL and the soul-crushing of baseball's early days when just the top two teams vied for the title.

Here's the cost: the chart below, courtesy of Baseball Prospectus, attempts to document the worst World Series winners of all time. The last and most relevant column is the team's projected winning percentage given its run-scoring/preventing profile and its strength of schedule. 

It's no surprise that the '06 Cards are first worst. They played sub-.500 ball in the second half and triumphed against the foundering Tigers in the Keystone Cops World Series. Blecch.

Dig deeper and you'll notice something: Of the 15 weakest champs, 12 hail from the Wild Card era. Five of the 11 titleholders since the turn of the millennium "earned" a spot.

Rank	Year	Team	W-L	HLF
1	2006	Cardinals	83-78	.497
2	1987	Twins	85-77	.497
3	1959	Dodgers	88-68	.533
4	2000	Yankees	87-74	.534
5	1985	Royals	91-71	.539
6	2003	Marlins	91-71	.545
7	1964	Cardinals	93-69	.548
8	1997	Marlins	92-70	.552
9	1996	Yankees	92-70	.552
10	1945	Tigers	88-65	.554
11	2008	Phillies	92-70	.555
12	1982	Cardinals	92-70	.556
13	2010	Giants	92-70	.558
14	1980	Phillies	91-71	.559
15	2005	White Sox	99-63	.561

Because short series are rolls of the dice, more weak teams are matching up for the Fall Classic. Moreover, because the playoffs are now weeks long, the winners are determined by a sprint after running a 162-game marathon. The best long-distance runner is often not the best dasher.

Expect more of this in the future, especially as the AL Beast continues to bulk up at the expense of other divisions, allowing mediocre division winners to ride a couple of hot starters to pay dirt. It's a Faustian bargain that's given more cities a rooting interest in the post-season but a less compelling championship series.
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They Might Be Giants

And so, they're the Giants of baseball, the first San Francisco treat since the franchise moved in 1958. The Giants won the World Series because they played five great games. Their pitching was masterful, allowing five runs in the last four games; their defense sublime and their hitting sufficient.

The only shame was that the dogpile occurred in Dallas rather than in the Bay area. After about the first 23 seconds it looked as if the players didn't know whom to hug.

As Joe Buck aptly pointed out, this squad had accomplished what Barry and Bobby Bonds, Jeff Kent, Juan Marichal, Rob Nenn, Will Clark and other great Giant players had failed to. But looking into that quivering mass of celebrating humanity, I had to wonder about some of the participants.

Does Pat Burrell return home with any sense of accomplishment? The guy was a wind farm in the Series, fanning in 11 of 13 times at bat. Burrell saved his career in a couple of hundred swings with San Fran, but may have jeopardized all that with his World Series futility. Now a free agent, Burrell cost the Giants four runs in just four games (not including his Game 4 benching).

How about Mike Fontenot, is he celebrating his great achievement? A solid middle-infielder with the woebegone Cubs, Fontenot came to the Giants and promptly sat on the bench. He didn't see a single pitch in the World Series. What can he tell his homeys in Slidell -- "I'm a world champ"?

Or Barry Zito? The free agent bust-o-rama was left off the post-season roster but will still get a ring along with his millions. Will he wear it with pride? Will he include a World Series title on his post-playing curriculum vitae? He'd better decide, because that time is nigh.

I feel good about the Giants' championship, even though they weren't the best team in baseball. It's a nice prize for the city, which hasn't had much to cheer about in sports for a while. Though the series wasn't particularly exciting or memorable, it was very well-played and leads us to another exciting hot stove season.

Hey, don't put away the mitt!

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World Series Musings

Strike Three

We've become accustomed to the strike-zone illustrations demonstrating where each pitch is, but there's one small group of people that will never see this useful tool -- the umpires! The baseball world has gone mad.

Baseball literally has the technology to replace the home plate umpire with perfection. Instead, it chooses the reverse. Umpires not only are imperfect in their calculation of the strike zone, they seem to be free to interpret it any way they like. Any of the variations on the not-uncommon theme that an umpire "has a high strike zone" or is "giving the pitcher the outside corner" is absurd and now illustrated vividly pitch by pitch on your large-screen, high definition TV.

The strike zone is baseball's manifestation of our political culture, where truth is subordinate to volume. I think baseball ought to be focused on ball-and-strike truth, not an arbiter's opinion, particularly when the arbiter seems to be free to devise his own rules as they game progresses.

Juan For the Road

He's bounced through three organizations in 10 years staffing three infield positions and producing a lackluster.256/.300/.431 lifetime line. He's built like a refrigerator and doesn't look like he could steal a base off an Eephus pitch. But the more you watch Juan Uribe, the more impressed you have to be.

Despite his girth, Uribe is a twinkled-toed third baseman who moves to his left as well as anyone. A one-man ERA-deflator, he's saved the Giants several runs on defense this post-season. When he's filling in at short or second, as he did when Mark DeRosa was healthy and Edgar Renteria wasn't, his 24-home-run power is an asset, despite his on-base deficiencies.

I won't deface this post by alluding to Uribe's post-season performance, as if that small sample of games is somehow indicative of some character trait. Besides, Uribe has two walks and 12 strikeouts in his 12 post-season games so far, accompanying a game-breaking three-run blast in Game One of the World Series. The larger point is this -- playoffs magnify performance, in part because players are on national display for multiple games at a time. 

Call it the Derek Jeter effect, although there are probably several of those. Much of Jeter's renown is a product of our familiarity with his talent from the playoffs. We're more personally and viscerally connected to the exploits of guys whose world class abilities are in our living room nightly. Watching Juan Uribe play a couple of games a year, spread over five months, doesn't make much impact on us, but a concentrated sample of his work gives us greater appreciation. Perhaps if the Giants made the playoffs with Uribe in the lineup for the next five years, he'd be a much more heralded player.

The Buck's Gotta Stop

Joe Buck's the most-watched and highest-paid baseball announcer in the world, wouldn't you think? The ability to entertain and inform people extemporaneously via broadcast media is a rare gift that I acknowledge and admire. It's easy to take shots at people who must speak for three hours without a script five nights-a-week.

But it is reasonable to ask those talents to be informed about their subjects. Joe Buck 2010 ought to know something about the game that Jack Buck 1975 didn't. On that point, alas.

On Jeff Francoeur, the over-talented major league bust whom the Rangers over-hopefully picked up in August after the Mets finally cut bait, Buck demonstrated that he has no idea what makes a successful ballplayer.

Buck recounted what a promising rookie campaign Francoeur had, batting .300 with 14 home runs in half a season, how Francoeur had pounded 29 homers in his sophomore season and how he'd knocked in 100+ runs twice for the Braves.

But if there is a consistent theme in Jeff Francoeur's career it's that he has no idea where the strike zone is. For his career -- now more than 3,400 plate appearances -- Francoeur has walked just 168 times, or about 29 times per 600 trips to the plate. He whiffs four times as often, largely because pitchers know he swings at bad pitches. Other great talents have burned up on the same funeral pyre.

The result is a lifetime .310 OBP, which is more important than his batting average, home run total, RBI count or anything else Joe Buck can name. It is the window on Francoeur's under-whelming career, which the highest-paid baseball announcer in the world still doesn't know how to -- or even why to -- open. It's not the only example of Buck's willful ignorance, but it's the most poignant.

Francoeur's at bat was instructive. The now-bearded outfielder flailed at two outside pitches and then took a called strike three. The lesson escaped the most-watched announcer in baseball.

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Not the Hitless Wonders

Well, that was exactly as predicted. I had the Giants scoring 11 runs. All series. It's nice to polish off the to-do list in Game 1. That leaves them the rest of the week to kick back with a beer.

It's fun to trash the Giants for offensive offensiveness, but it overlooks one inconvenient fact: the Giants of October aren't the Lilliputians who opened the season.

Consider the pathetic roster Bruce Bochy put on the field to open the season. The top-paid free agent signing, center fielder Aaron Rowand, had gained renown mostly for dramatic outfield fence collisions in which he usually finished in second place. Rowand limped through half the season before being yanked, hitting a paltry .230/.281/.378.

Starting cornerman Pedro Sandoval was the Giants' big swinger last year, but his decline this season was utterly predictable. For one thing, the guy is made of jello. For another, he's allergic to walks. He's a decent fielder for his size, which is like saying that Charlie Sheen is a good husband for a drug addict.

San Francisco's run scoring juggernaut was capped by backstop Bengie Molina, who couldn't tear a paper bag with his swing from inside it. Molina hung 221 empty plate appearances on the team, making 152 outs and 84 total bases. The word that performance brings to mind is "minors," which is where the team went to find his replacement.

And that's the point. NL Rookie of the Year Should-be Buster Posey replaced Molina -- literally; they brought up Posey and fired Molina, who is now contributing to the Rangers' championship run -- and instantly topped the team's hitting chart. His .305/.357/.505 represented a 32 run upgrade for them.

Instead of Rowand, the good Dr. Jekyll Burrell arrived, pounding 18 homers and a .364 OBP in just 341 plate appearances. Just removing Rowand saved the team two runs; Burrell added another 19. Add waiver claim Cody Ross doing his Shane Victorino imitation and keeping Jose Guillen (.692 OPS) and Nate Schierholtz (.677 OPS) on the bench and the offense is visibly improved.

Bringing back Edgar Renteria from injury allowed Juan Uribe to slide over to third and sack Sandoval. Sum the parts with Aubrey Huff's (.891 OPS) year-long slugging and you are stuck with a conclusion that's bad for punchlines: the Giants are not the team that started the season. They're a decent hitting squad with some outfield power, representative bats at first, short and third and a budding superstar behind the plate.

Combined with their formidable arms and a Goth closer, it's suddenly not such a surprise that the Giants are in the World Series. They aren't the hitless wonders that began 2010.

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The Mice Who Roar

I'm as thrilled as the next Yankee-basher that Texas has lost its playoff virginity and that either Dallas or San Fran gets its World Series cherry popped in the next two weeks. I'll be watching every whiff. (There'll be lots. The Giants can't hit and the Rangers will be facing great pitching.)

So understand that this isn't a complaint. But anyone who thinks these are the two best teams in baseball doesn't have both oars in the water. It's fair to say that the Rangers couldn't even win a bronze medal in the AL East Olympics.

So after a 162-game season and three rounds of playoffs, we'll have a definitive champion, but no answer to the question "who is the best team?" This works for me in baseball, at least to some extent, because the best team is the same one every year, by artificial means. It does mean that Rent-A-Wrecks like Detroit and St. Louis 2006 will vie for baseball's Daytona 500 now and then.

These contemplations coincide with publication of a new book fashionably calling for a Jihad against the BCS. Like most fans, its authors demand a playoff in college football. Well, I have some bad news for all of you.

We already have a college football playoff. The BCS is a two-team playoff that guarantees that one of the two -- or maybe three or four -- best teams in the land will emerge as champs. If you expand the playoff to eight or 16, some arbitrary method will be employed to choose the contestants, just as it is now. The championship game, though, could pair any of those 16 teams, including the two weakest. Definitive champ; pit in stomach.

If you're sipping at the playoff punch, remember this too: a 16-team playoff would suck the marrow out of the college football season. Oregon, Boise State, TCU, Auburn, Alabama and Ohio State could all cruise to the finish at this point because a loss, or even two in some cases, wouldn't knock them out of the top 16. Under the current system, every game is swollen with import. The result is a fascinating college football season that usually gives us a definitive champion that can also credibly claim to be the best in the land.

Personally, I prefer the chaos, the mayhem and the endless arguments. Sports talk radio would have to fill its hours with even more insipid subjects than it does now were it not for debates about non-BCS schedules, comparative undefeateds without opponent overlap, and objective versus subjective rating systems. Do you really want to hear more rambling, inarticulate quarterback voice mail messages that knock the bronze off their senders' Canton bust? Because that's the kind of mindlessness that would fill the chasm created by eliminating college football debates.

Every sport grapples with this. The NBA and NHL have chosen to steer their regular seasons off a cliff, much to their long-term detriment, I would argue. Pro football, benighted in all it surveys, seems to have successfully played both ends against the middle (and it's collecting the vig too.) College football has the regular season nailed and the post-season is tacked down pretty good too, the righteous uproar not withstanding. Baseball is trying to have it both ways and the result is predictably a little of everything. The season is important, but once you squeak into the playoffs, you're as likely to win as those who roar in. 

And this year, the mice are roaring.

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Dear Cliff Lee

Okay, I can breathe again. I can blog again. Thank you, Texas Rangers.

A quick note to Cliff Lee:

Dear Cliff,

I know that the Yankees are going to throw a spadillion dollars at you to reunite Sabathia & Lee. I understand that, though the difference between a spadillion and 20 million is inconceivable to me, it's a ton of cash to you. And to the union too.

I'm sure you can live comfortably in LA or Cincinnati or Chicago or wherever on $20 million. I'm thinking your wife can probably shop at Whole Foods every week on that salary. If you want that OnStar system in the Lexus, Cliff, I'm thinking Scott Boras would approve. It probably won't prevent you from making those Berkshire-Hathaway investments.

Now let's talk about happiness, Cliff. You're a southern boy. New York and Boston are not like Arkansas. They tahk funny thayah. They're crazy Socialists who want to tax rich people like you. They don't care about SEC football. Heck, they don't care about college sports, period. The extra Benjamins won't change any of that.

Nor will it change the weather. You want your hands to be numb in April and October? I didn't think so, Cliff.

Remember, you won the Cy Young in Cleveland. You went to the World Series with Philly. You're back again with the Rangers. You're a hero in North Texas today. You don't need the damn Yankees. If New York were to get to the championship with you as their #2 starter, you wouldn't get much credit. C'mon, they've got CC and Mo and Jeter and ARod and Teixeira. There's not much room for Cliff. Besides, there would be no novelty in NY or Boston. People don't worship you for delivering title #28, particularly when some of your teammates were around six titles ago.

Spadilllion schmillion. Stay in Dallas, Cliff. They're practically your home team. Or maybe St. Louis or Atlanta is. They're nice places. Go to Anaheim or Seattle or Phoenix. Be the guy who saved baseball, not another sucker who went to NY for the money.

Your friend,

Waldo

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The Inevitable is Still Inevitable

As I write this, CC Sabathia is collecting splinters while the Yankee bullpen mops up his 5-2 mess against the Rangers in Game 1 of the ALCS. If Texas hangs on for six more outs, they guarantee themselves one game in the series.

New York enjoys the largest payroll disparity over Texas in all of playoff history and they avoid an over-abundance of Ranger poison pill, Cliff Lee. The Rangers throw Colby Lewis against the World Champs in Games 2 and 5, and Game 1 starter CJ Wilson returns in Games 4 and 7. They're nice young players, but Jorge Posada has seen 114 others just like them. He's not exactly quaking in his stirrups.

You might recall that the last Lone Star playoff triumph against the Yankees was Game 1 of a series more than a decade ago, which impressively preceded nine straight New York victories.

Pay close attention to how the home team reacts on Saturday. Unless their gaze is laser-locked on Game 2, they are toast. One nanosecond of gloating or bemoaning dooms them against the experienced and immensely-talented Gotham juggernaut.

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A moment now to rebut my own statement about the Yankees owning the largest payroll disparity over Texas in all of playoff history, roughly $150 million. Jeter and ARod cash larger checks than the entire roster in Arlington.

At the risk of defending the evil scourge that is the Yankees, much of payroll disparity is really experience disparity. In their first six years of MLB service, players cannot seek market-based compensation. So Josh Hamilton’s salary could bring the entire Kardashian family and still not get into Curtis Granderson’s party. Had Hamilton forgone four years of nostril-toasting, he’d be making enough to buy Cleveland, not counting anything still owned by LeBron.

Of course, the Yankees would be paying that salary, having gorged on the best available free-agent outfielder, so that does undermine my argument. Hamilton may be a crackhead, but as long as he hits 30 homers and scrapes the hair off his face regularly, he’s Yankee material.* I haven't a piercing, a tatoo or a felony conviction on my person, but even if I could slug .600, the Yankees would be put off by my hirsuteness. Just another reason to despise the the franchise, just behind Kim Jong Il and ahead of Mussolini.

*That was just a rhetorical flourish: I admire Josh’s fortitude and wish him good luck, especially the next seven games. But that’s not the way to bet.

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Wake Me Up for Spring Training

And there you go. It's already evident why the baseball playoffs have become a giant anti-climax to a thrilling 162-game marathon.

If you find yourself yawning and checking your fantasy football roster, it's because the Yankees are already booking their rooms in Philadelphia. Having humiliated the Twins, they now face the prospect of a match-up with the pitching depleted Rays or Rangers. A series versus Texas without the services of Cliff Lee until Game 3 is as compelling as a hammer-nail competition. Texas is more likely to secede from the Union (again) than beat New York in a seven-game ALCS. Tampa might prolong the dance, but three Sabathia starts weighs more heavily -- literally and figuratively -- than anything the Rays can pull from their $70 million roster.

In fact, it was only two games into the playoffs before we already knew that the franchise with advantages at every level -- in the draft, in international signings, in payroll, in recruiting players; in everything -- will yet again compete in the championship series. Ho hum. Fans in Seattle and Chicago and Houston and Toronto and Kansas City must again be filled with glee.

And if the Yankees face the favored Phillies, we will once again witness the sorry spectacle of outdoor baseball on frigid November nights in the Northeast. That's just how Abner Doubleday drew it up, don't you think? The sting of the bat, the clattering of teeth, the pristine white of snow flurries sprinkling the brown grass. The Boys of Winter.

ZZZZzzzzzz.

NL MVP: Gotta Have A Votto Love

That the prime candidates for 2010 NL MVP all toiled for contenders should not lull you into the cognitive weakness of assuming that “leading his team to the pennant” is a credible skill.

The four legitimate contenders clubbed their way to stardom for the Rockies, Cardinals, Padres and Reds. They deserve consideration not because their teams won bunches of games but because they personally contributed at the highest levels.  But first, a word about a young outfielder who is not a viable candidate.

If batting average, steals and outfield versatility float your boat, Carlos Gonzalez is your coxswain. The Venezuelan lefty hit .336 to pace the league, swiped 26 bases and deployed variously to all three outfield positions. But Cargo didn’t work the count at an MVP level, leaving his more relevant on base percentage at .376, 37^th best in baseball, six spots behind Chipper Jones and his .265 BA.

Moreover, Cargo was a thin air demon, managing just a .289/.322/.453 line with a mere eight of his 34 dingers away from Denver. Most batters perform better when there’s no hotel involved, but those splits suggest that Cargo’s a good hitter exploiting a very favorable condition. Nix!

Anyway, there’s a superior candidate from Colorado: shortstop Troy Tulowitzki. Tulo hit .315/.381/.568 with more normal platoon splits. While those numbers don’t match Cargo’s they tower over the average shortstop’s. Whereas Gonzalez cooled just as the Rockies ran out of steam at season’s end, Tulo kept the engine stoked, accumulating a 1.127 OPS in the last month and banging 12 of his 27 homers.

In fact, Tulowitzki’s greater MVP competition is another Gonzalez, Masochist of the Year Adrian Gonzalez. San Diego’s first baseman has the dubious distinction of playing his home games in the Grand Canyon, surrounded by a lineup of replacement-level hitters. That he was able to produce a .298/.393/.511 line and 31 homers while carrying the entire Padre offense on his back is remarkable. His road record -- .315 .402 .578 with 20 homers – suggests that Petco seriously kiboshes his power. 

That's all very nice, but now let's talk about the National League's Most Valuable Player.

There is a pair of first baseman whose performances require no explanations. Albert Pujols and Joey Votto delivered seasons superior in nearly every way to the above-named. Pujols (.312/.414/.596 with 14 steals in 18 attempts) and Votto (.324/.424/.600 with 16 steals in 21 attempts) sufficiently outpaced Tulowitzki to overwhelm his added value as a shortstop, and simply overwhelm the accomplishments of the Messers Gonzalez.

While Votto is a perfectly perfunctory first baseman, Pujols’s defensive acumen shaves off Votto’s offensive edge. Both players lit it up in August and early September, when Cincinnati pulled away from St. Louis, and both play in parks that don’t much favor offense or defense. Pujols stayed healthy for all but two games and delivered his excellence in 52 more plate appearances.

So why is Joey Votto my MVP? You can divine meaning from the sixth decimal place if you like, but basically the two are even. Votto, though, carried the Reds’ offense. Whereas Pujols had a trusty sidekick in Matt Holliday (.922 OPS) with support from Colby Rasmus and Ryan Ludwick for two-thirds of the season, Votto’s supporting cast was a revitalized Scott Rolen (.855 OPS) and the likes of Jay Bruce and Drew Stubbs.

Votto gets my vote by a split hair over the best player in the game. If the baseball writers split the hair differently, that’s fine. Any other vote is a Ricky Riccardo – they got a lot a ‘splainin’ to do.

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AL MVP: Him or Him or Him

The American League MVP race is nearly as wide open as Dick Vitale’s mouth. Unlike the Cy Young races, where there really is only one right answer in each league, reasonable people can disagree on who was the best performer this year.

First, the preliminaries:

1. The Most Valuable Player is the player who added the most wins to his team by hitting, base running and defense. Period.
2. The MVP’s credentials are largely unconnected to his team’s place in the standings. A player whose performance adds eight wins to his team’s total has eight wins of value, irrespective of whether they are wins 63-70 or wins 87-94.
3. Context matters. A lot. Hitting home runs at The Ballpark in Arlington is roughly 13% easier than in Safeco Field. Competing in the AL East is harder than in the AL West. There are homeless men in the NYC subway who can hit .300 with power and play first base. Catchers who do so are even rarer than a n African democracy.
4. Stats that don’t matter, don’t matter. If we can agree that runs scored and batted in are team events, then they have no place in the discussion. When we use stats, let’s stick to those that illuminate the issue, not confuse it.

At first glance, the race for MVP is between the batting champ, Ranger left-fielder Josh Hamilton and RBI king, Tigers first-baseman Miguel Cabrera. Hamilton was magnificent all year, hitting .360/.412/.636 and leading the league in OPS in a hitter-friendly park. Cabrera was no less impressive, swatting .328/.420/.622 in the more neutral Comerica. Hamilton contributed nothing during the 30 games he missed. Cabrera contributed in all but the final 12.

Cabrera has a small hitting edge, but Hamilton has a significant fielding advantage. He dazzles sufficiently in left to do stand-in work in center and he runs the bases well, swiping eight of nine. Cabrera carries an over-packed suitcase in his uniform, slowing him on the base paths and at first. Not for nothing, Cabrera grounded into 17 double plays, to 10 for Hamilton.

Before you choose from between these luminaries, Robinson Cano would like to make his case. While he only hit .320/.382/.535 in Fly Ball Heaven Stadium, Cano turns the double-play. He didn’t light it up like either Cabrera or Hamilton, but relative to a replacement player, he was the best in the league. Baseball Prospectus estimates he was worth 9.5 wins above a replacement second-sacker, compared to Hamilton’s 8.5 versus left-fielders and Cabrera’s 7.6 over first basemen.

All three, in my view, have their charms. If given a vote, I’d cast it for Cabrera. I don’t think Cano has hit enough to overtake the other two. The defensive zone rating metrics, of which I’m admittedly wary, don’t like Hamilton, casting a light shadow of doubt on his “value.” Moreover, Hamilton’s accomplishments are dependent on more than a fair share of grounders sneaking through holes. Ten fewer of them and his slash stats can’t compete with Cabrera’s. But I won’t knock anyone who casts their ballot for Cano or Hamilton. I like chocolate; perhaps they like vanilla or strawberry.

A note about three other players. Meteorite Blue Jay outfielder Jose Bautista slammed 54 homers and laid down a .262/.380/.621 line. Zounds. For the MVP though, he’s basically Hamilton/Cabrera lite. Red Sox third baseman Adrian Beltre (.321/.365/.553) and Rays’ third basemen Evan Longoria (.294/.372/.507) have high replacement value as hot-cornermen, but not enough to cover 100 fewer points of OPS, in my view. Believing the defensive hype about Longoria puts him squarely in the discussion, but I’m dubious about both defensive reputation and defensive metrics.

So who’s the AL MVP? No definitive answer. If the writers pick one of Hamilton, Cabrera and Cano, no complaints will be warranted.

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Meandering Through the Bronx

So if the stars are lining up for the Phillies in the NL; what about the AL? It's not so cut-and-dried, but baseball fans disregard the Yankees at their own peril.

If you pay attention to the past, you realize three things:

1. How a team finishes the regular season is absolutely no guide to how they will perform in the playoffs.

2. Most theories about who has the edge (e.g., they have more playoff experience) are crap.

3. The past is only occasionally prologue to the present.

The Yankees cruised to a runner-up finish with starting pitchers like Somebody Nova and Somebody-else Moseley while they bottle-fed Andy Pettitte back into the rotation. This is a franchise that has in past years gotten bored of the regular season once the post-season became a fait accompli. They will be at maximum strike force for the Twins, even if, as Wild Card, they're made to suffer on the road, in frigid weather, against a superior foe (relative to Texas.)

The Rangers are in much-improved position to win with their MVP-candidate left-fielder back in the fold, but they suffer the curse of the egalitarian staff, which doesn't seem to correlate with playoff success. Though Texas will suit up an 11-man pitching contingent that includes just two hurlers whose ERAs top 4.00 (Dustin Nippert, 4.20 and Matt Harrison, 4.71), no one after Cliff Lee raises any eyebrows from opposing sluggers. A deep staff with no clear star gets a team to the post-season, but doesn't have a history of keeping them there long.

Not that their first opponent, the Rays, are riding any great wave. The starters, Tampa's iron fist most of the season, tailed off badly in the last month, in several cases reaching well past their Verducci levels. Wade Davis pitched 100 more innings than he ever had before; David Price 80 more. Jeff Niemann and James Shields showed repeatedly that they had nothing left in the second half. While Yankee hurlers have been coasting, their Ray counterparts may be sucking wind.

There are plenty of good arguments for the Rays, Twins and Rangers to win trips to the World Series. Short playoff series are notoriously fickle and the four contestants are relatively evenly matched. Still, New York is unique among them in not yet considering their season a success. The AL championship goes through the Bronx, even if no clinching game ever does.

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Payback Could Be A Bitch

If you're the Philadelphia Phillies, you have to be feeling that what went around has come around on the 2010 season. Buffeted by a rash of early- and mid-season injuries that turned them into newts, the horsies got better and now find themselves uniquely positioned to march through the playoffs.

Payback could be a bitch for the other contenders.

Most likely, Philly will square off with Cincinnati in the division series. The Reds have feasted on the dregs of the league for most of their 89 victories. That is not the formula for ousting Halladay, Oswalt and Hamels (H2O). Las Vegas will be falling all over itself to court wagers against the double defending NL champs.

The Giants and Braves must eliminate San Diego before tussling in the first round. Depending on how long it takes, both teams could use up their best starters. Matt Cain, on the hill tonight, is already out for Game One. The Braves' Jair Jurrjens is hobbled and questionable for the playoffs. Tim Hudson is scheduled to go Sunday if the Braves still need to win, which would push his first start to Game 3. 

Anything can happen in a five-game series, of course, but it's easy to imagine Rollins, Utley, Howard and Werth plowing through the Redleg pitching and giving the rotation time to reset against the Giants or Braves. With the home field advantage and a late-season pedigree, Philly would be prohibitive favorites against whichever side wins the other series. The Giants have the mound horses to match, but if they've chewed through them in the NLDS, they might not be quite the asset. Citizens Bank is a homer total's best friend, but San Fran doesn't have the punch to take advantage.

As for the Braves, they are largely a Turner Field phenomenon, and that doesn't play well in Philly, particularly on autumn nights. The Phils made up eight games on Atlanta in September for a reason. Rolling out H2O for six of seven games exaggerates the advantage and ameliorates Philly's bullpen weakness.

None of that accounts for injuries, anomalies, rain delays/postponements and simple luck. The race isn't always to the swift nor the battle to the strong. But that's the way to bet.

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Anomalies of Another Great Season

Some amazing notes from another amazing baseball season as it drips into its annual anti-climax.

1. Phlegmatic Arizona slugger Mark Reynolds is the Greg House of baseball. The Diamondback slugger is either a genius or colossal failure, depending on what aspect of the job you esteem. Reynolds is batting .198 and has 208 strikeouts. He is three games away from becoming the first player in history with more strikeouts than his batting average. And yet, Reynolds has 13 runs of value over a replacement cornerman. How is that? Thirty-two homers, 83 walks and decent fielding at a tough defensive position mean he's worth abiding the futility while enjoying the patience and power.

2. How good is Jason Heyward? Adonis hit .278/.394/.457 in his rookie year, with great plate savvy, speed and defense. Most notably: he's 21. It's hard to overstate how significant that is. He should be a junior in college, ready to be drafted and begin next season in Double-A. Instead, he's among the 100 best ballplayers on the planet.

In Sammy Sosa's first year, a few months younger than Heyward is now, his Major League education scored out at .257/.303/.366. I remember reading a reflection by Bill James that I can't find, in which he noted that Sosa's rookie performance projected to a magnificent career, and gave him a one-third chance of achieving Hall of Fame status. Sammy was a replacement-level player that year. Heyward is worth 32 runs more than a replacement player. If he continues to grow (in baseball terms, that is. At 6'4" 220, growing his frame would be scary) he's an A-Rodian cinch for Cooperstown. (ARod's age 21 rookie season: .358/.414/.631.)

3. Albert Pujols had a disappointing year, don't you think? He faded when the Cardinals swooned and fell out of the race. He binged and purged on NL pitching. He only hit .315, 18 points below his career mean. Consider in his place, this guy: he had a .416 OBP and led the league in slugging with a .602 mark. He pounded 42 homers, most in the circuit and 39 doubles, drove in a league-leading 118 runs and scored a league-pacing 115. His 83 runs of VORP (value over replacement player) was tops and that doesn't include his sensational defense.

That is the margin by which Prince Albert is the king of baseball. His off-year is MVP quality, even if he's not the guy you'd actually select. (More on that in a subsequent post.) Earning the best player mantle in your career year is difficult enough; Pujols is worthy of the crown when he struggles.

4. How about that John Axford, huh? "Who?" you said. Fair enough. The Brewers' new closer posted an 8-2 2.53 line with 23 saves in 26 chances while yielding but a lonely home run. Why is Axford a mystery to you? Because last year he toiled for the Single-A Brevard County Manatees. He thrived as a cumbersome sea-faring mammal in '09 and thrived as a hops mixer in '10. Go figure.

5. In his first four full seasons, Jose Bautista hit 59 homers combined. This year he's at 54 and counting. He posted slugging averages of .420, .404, .411 and .408. This year, .625. He stole 13 bases but was nailed eight times. This year, 8 of 10. In his first four seasons, he was worth two wins over replacement -- total. This year 6.6.

I'll leave the steroid speculation to others. The question that most interests me is, what should we expect next year? We know that, on average, anomalies like him regress to the mean. That is, on average, a player with a career of .415 slugging averages who slugs .625 will fall halfway back, slugging .520. On average, he'll club 35 out and steal six of nine. But Jose Bautista isn't the average player; he's Jose Bautista, just as you're not the average family, with 2.3 children. While that's the midpoint of his range, he could also quite conceivably repeat 2010. That would be fun.

6. The Toronto Blue Jays have the fourth worst team batting average in baseball, the second fewest singles and the eighth-fewest walks. So naturally, they're second in total bases and ninth in runs scored. Led by a Bautista-infused 253 long balls, (Boston's second at 207) the Jays have posted the largest difference between slugging average and batting average...in history. At .207, it's double the level of the Mariners (.104), who stand at the precipice of historical run-scoring futility. It's a great game.

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